The World to Know
by Spades And Swords
Summary: A latte without extra foam is nothing but a waste.


**Disclaimer: All characters belong to Disney.**

* * *

Time had no meaning in jail. Days were all the same.

Wake up, eat, exercise, sleep.

Was his imprisonment meant to be a punishment? If so, then it barely felt like it.

His routine in the utopian world outside hadn't been any different.

"Have you decided yet?" asked the guard, a pig, her arms folded and with a smug look in her eyes. From behind the bars, she looked like the same domesticated animal she would have been in the past, where hers and Doug's ancestors had once shared their sheltered lives in the waiting for their fated slaughter.

Doug stared at her, and chuckled when her confidence wavered and she took a couple of steps back. A sheep's eyes, if full of resentment or void of any sentiment, could make the cruelest of predators back down in fear.

Or a pig, in this case. But Doug knew better than to underestimate her species.

They could be savages lusting for blood if properly motivated. Any species in Zootopia had that potential, and it took a simple flower to let those low instincts flow free.

It was fascinating, he thought, how years of evolution could be shattered with chemistry and a good aim. That's how powerful nature was.

Pathetic.

"I want a latte." He said, calm and casual as if he was in a coffee shop.

"Is that all?" Inquired the guard with a harsh voice.

"Yes."

"Is there anyone you'd like to call? Family, friends?"

"I don't have any, and if I do, I stopped caring about them years ago."

The guard looked at him, pitying him as if he was one of the crazed victims Doug had reverted back to their most basic state. It angered him, but what would anger gain him?

It was just a waste of his energy.

They stared at each other in silence, with only the metal bars keeping them apart.

Had there not been any, would he have broken her neck and escape? It would not be the first time he did something of the sort.

Doug coughed and scratched his nose.

To be a fugitive was demanding, and he hadn't the energy to attempt it.

Maybe later, or tomorrow, or someday.

"Such a wasted life." Sighed the guard once she realized the ram had nothing more to say.

She was halfway through the mile when Doug's voice halted her steps.

"I want my latte with extra-foam." Said the ram with heavy voice, as if he was reminding an incompetent lackey of her duties. "Don't forget it."

It was the guard's turn to answer only with silence. Doug shrugged and laid on his bed, staring blankly at the green roof above.

He hoped she had heard him and wouldn't forget his request.

That would be a true waste.

* * *

Sometimes, she lured around him like a restless shadow. The other inmates treated sheep with the same respect the outside citizens did.

None.

Lions held great resentment against them after Bellwether failed machinations, and they had no better place to liberate their hatred within than behind the prison's walls. One female lion, a supposed fervent follower of Leodore Lionheart, had special cruel ways to get even with sheep and rams.

Though Doug had tasted her venom many times, Bellwether was her prime prey.

"Sheep meat tastes the best." She growled at her at every opportunity she had.

It was natural Bellwether would go to him in search of protection, but if she thought Doug would bother to save her from the other prisoners, she was as meek and stupid as the stereotype dictated.

"I can get us out of here." She whispered in his ear one day, while Doug finished his meal.

"Escape by yourself." He replied, holding the empty tray in his hands. "See you."

The little sheep followed him silently and grabbed him by the arm, forcing Doug to bow down to her level. He let go of the tray, and its clanking echo drew all eyes in their direction.

Something in Doug's indifference sparked a wrath in Bellwether like he had never seen before in his life. For a moment, he thought he would die there, with his throat mauled and ripened by her savage teeth and hinder legs.

Excitement ran through Doug's veins like a drug. That had always been the toxic but symbiotic and addictive effect they had on each other. The sight of bestial animals had been the only thing that put Doug out of his numb state of being, ever since he was a child.

He dared to say it made him feel peaceful.

But now, he had no time for those sentiments. In jail, they seemed ridiculous.

"Let go." He ordered coldly.

"Have you given up already?" Bellwether hissed, her eyes reflecting the true nature she tried to conceal beneath her callow façade.

"I've given up on nothing. The outside world has lost its appeal to me."

"Don't you dare to turn your back on me, Ramses." Muttered Bellwether with restrained anger, her eyes glazed with tears of fury. "You know very well what happens to those who oppose me."

In that moment, two medics surrounded by a group guards passed running next to them, carrying with them a fallen prisoner with bloodshot eyes and with foam sprouting out of her mouth.

Doug recognized the dying lioness. It was the fourth casualty of her species that month.

"I know." He said, gently letting go of Bellwether's grip. "And I don't care, and neither should you. We'll all die someday anyways."

"What?" Bellwether's anger could only be outmatched by her bewilderment.

"I hate repeating myself." Said Doug with disgust and exasperation, as if he was dealing with a stupid child. "Later."

He left her there, alone with her frustration. He would be lying if he said it didn't amuse him.

She had demanded an answer, but what would be gained by anticipating something soon to come?

Patience. That's all Bellwether needed.

Hours, days, months, years…. As long as it may take.

After all, time meant nothing in prison.

* * *

When Doug opened his eyes, he was back in his cell again. He had dozed off for a couple of hours, but everything was the same.

His bed, the roof, the metal bars.

The monotony of it all was soothing. Alone in silence, with no one but himself to keep him company, he could have lived the rest of his days and die a content ram.

If only…

"You." The pig guard smashed the bars with her baton, making Doug jump slightly on his bed.

He got up without any hurry, and stretched for a few minutes before looking at her.

"What do you want?" He asked after a long yawn.

The guard threw a bag at him. The smell of caffeine breathed new life into the ram.

"Oh, I'd almost forgotten about it." Doug said as he took the cup of coffee out of the bag. "Hurry up and get me some cream, it's getting cold."

"That's all you'll get." Stated the guard. "Be grateful an officer made sure you were granted this last kindness."

"Can you get me sugar then? It smells very bitter."

She glared at him with contempt, but if she expected Doug to react in some specific way, it completely went over his head. He repeated his need for sugar, and for some reason Doug couldn't understand, she left him there speaking alone.

"Where are you going?" Asked Doug, but the guard was long gone. "Rude."

He shrugged and focused in the warmth between his hands. Now that he sniffed it more carefully, the latte smelled very sweet.

Almost like blood.

He sighed in precipitation for the first sip, every fiber in his wool harvesting a portion of his excitement.

In the same manner a hero of the legends drank from a mystical elixir, Doug drank from the cup.

The world around him lost its significance, and if the judge had determined life sentence was more fitting for his crimes than his actual punishment, then Dough wouldn't have minded to spend his existence locked up in jail.

Not as long as he had his latte with foam.

Extra foam.

Lots and lots of foam…

* * *

That evening, animals of all kinds gathered in front of him. Weasels, lions, panthers, cheetahs, wolves, otters, polar bears…

Amidst the multitude of predators, the number of prey was no less numerous. They looked at him like the animals they all were deep inside. Doug felt flattered, and he wished his hands were free of the ropes sticking them to the chair so he could shoot them all.

He would first shoot the prime predator of them all, a lion. Once he had slaughtered most of the prey, Doug would make him face an opponent of his same strength.

Perhaps a bear, or a pack of wolves.

The sole thought of it made him smile. To lighten things up and add some humor, he would shoot rabbits as well.

They had the reputation of being stupid, sweet simpletons, but Doug knew how dangerous and savage they were. A group of them could maul an otter, or stout, or even…

A fox.

Doug could see him. Standing besides him, there was a rabbit.

Out of all of the multitude, they were the only ones who looked at him with something else than hatred or pity.

The fox's eyes were difficult to decipher, but the rabbit's were clearer than water.

She would watch him die, and nothing more. She would not judge him or stain his grave with spit or tears.

She would just watch.

Doug grinned at her.

Rabbits were a strange species, very strange indeed.

In a heartbeat, the execution started. The lethal venom burned his veins like lava, but the pain mattered little to Doug. All things considered, it wasn't that bad.

When he first knew he had been sentenced to death, he had expected a much more violent demise, like those of times past, where sheep were hung upside down with their throats slit, bleeding slowly in agony and choking in their own blood until it all poured out of their bodies.

A hammer to the head until it smashed the life and brains out of him had also been a tempting idea, one most of the victims and their families could have agreed on in the blink of an eye.

But for some reason, poison had been the last verdict. It was a slow and a relatively painful process, but also the only one that allowed the accused to die with some dignity, without convulsing like a possessed carcass.

He wondered if the rabbit officer had had something to do with it too, or if Bellwether had intervened in his favor.

He had no way to know, but what did it matter? He was dying.

Doug's heartbeats slowed down. His limbs went numb and his eyesight blurred.

"Stop!" Screamed a high voice in the crowd.

Doug recognized a tiny white fluff trying to get to where he was, only to be stopped by a red figure.

"DOUG!" Bellwether screamed, and Doug knew she was crying. "Stop it! I planned it all! If someone must die…"

"It's too late for that. He too bears responsibility for what happened." Declared the executioner, an aged armadillo with glasses. He pushed a button, and the last dose of poison began to flow together with Doug's blood.

This time, it was painless. Doug's breathing became irregular, and he no longer had the strength to keep his eyes open.

He would meet death the same way he met sleep.

"You didn't even let him say his last words." Exclaimed Bellwether, her voice distorted by resentment and grief. "Savages, all of you!"

"He may speak if he still can." Said the armadillo without compassion. "Can he?"

Doug heard the challenge in the blackness between life and death. To answer to it would mean to deplete his last reserve of energy, but after some meditation, he decided to make use of it.

His eyes half opened, and he stared directly at the fox, the rabbit and Bellwether.

Now that he saw all of them, he remembered he had something of great importance to say.

"I did not get extra foam with my latte. I want the world to know this."

Death took him right after. It was a clean cut.

Doug Ramses left behind a body on which Bellwether cried, one Nick Wilde looked away from and one that Judy Hopps made sure to be buried humbly but with respect.

They all had nice sentiments, Doug would have thought.

But in all honesty, to make such a fuzz for the dead was meaningless.

Just another waste of energy.

* * *

"Have you decided yet?"

Leodor Lionheart felt shivers down his spine.

"Yes."

With slow steps, he went closer to the pig officer and whispered his answer. The officer nodded, and a faint smile appeared on her lips.

"You'll get it soon. It's freshly dug out."

Lionheart's stomach grumbled. It sickened him to realize how much his imminent death pushed him to limits he never would have dared to cross in the outside world.

But truth was that he would soon be dead, and heaven forgive him, he didn't want to leave without having tasted a mouthful of it in his life.

Some may call him a savage animal, but it was a common practice in Zootopia's jail. After all, most of the predator prisioners' last meal had always been meat.

Rumors had it that prey inmates lusted for it too.

And what better way to supply for the prisoners' last wishes than by using the bodies of those they slaughtered?

Lionheart's gasped in anxiety, regretting his distorted wish and hoping it wasn't too late to take it back.

The guard returned and gave him a package stained with crimson spots, and she left before he could open his mouth in disagreement.

The scent enchanted him, and before he could think about it, Lionheart found himself unwrapping the package.

When he looked at the red chunk, he realized how easy it was to ignore it had once been a living animal.

Hero, lover, criminal, civilian.

What did it matter?

It was dead, but the meat left behind still had its uses.

Meat was always edible, and a great source of energy.


End file.
